Extinguishing the Past
by PadfootSawyer
Summary: Negaduck sees a younger version of himself in Gosalyn and doesn’t want to deal with his emotions. Full summary inside. Please R&R!
1. Summary of what has happened so far

Summary of what's happened so far:

First off, this takes place seven years after the series.

The story opens with Darkwing going to fight Negaduck. During his encounter with his evil double, Darkwing becomes extremely injured; so injured that he cannot fight crime for several months until he's completely healed.

Her father now down and out, Gosalyn takes over as St. Canard's crime fighter, donning her father's mask, cape, name, and persona every night. She works at this for a week or two and finds that she has a gift for beating bad guys. Negaduck hears of her success, and decides to meet her himself.

The meeting doesn't go as Gosalyn (now Darkwing Duck) planned; she gets knocked unconscious and Negaduck takes her back to the Negaverse. Negaduck's plan is to hold Gosalyn hostage so Darkwing will come to save her and, once both Darkwings are in the Negaverse, he will kill them both and have St. Canard for himself.

Just one problem: Darkwing can't fight crime let alone go and save his daughter. So, Gosalyn has been stuck in the Negaverse for about a month and a half at this point, and Negaduck is finding, with increased loathing, that he _likes_ the teenage girl.

Then, one day, Gosalyn admits to feeling lost and alone. That is too much for Negaduck; upon finding out that she is going through the same emotional stages he went through as a teenager, he lashes out and leaves to try and conquer his past.


	2. The Story

Extinguishing the Past

(c) Lauren Stearns 2009

I pressed my back into the frigid concrete, taking a deep breath. As I let it out, I twisted slightly, poking my head around the corner so I had full view of the street. Nothing. I pulled back into my alleyway, not wanting anyone who was approaching to see my blood-red fedora – a sure sign that I lay in wait. Nothing gives your position away more than a brief flash of brilliant red. And I couldn't be seen before my attack – that would be just wrong and break all the rules about sneaking up to someone.

I knew my nine millimeter was full; ready – even eager – to be used. I just needed someone to demonstrate on just how ready it was.

I wouldn't let my past surface – especially when you considered who had replaced that sorry excuse of space. My reputation was something I had worked too hard at so see it end now. And there was no way I was going to let it end while I had anything to say about it, and I had plenty.

The cool steel chilled me to the bone, causing me to remember who I was now; who I had become. My past would not have liked what it had seen if I had looked into the future back then, but now my present didn't like my past. I was so weak back then, so vulnerable, so… human. But now, now I could live with myself. I was powerful – so powerful that I had become supreme ruler of my city in a hostile takeover when I was nineteen. Years had passed and the more I destroyed the more content I became with myself.

I liked destruction; lived for it. That feeling of control, of having absolute power over everything… It's something that gets in your blood that you can't resist. It's sort of like an addiction; you can't get enough of that adrenaline rush that comes from wiping something out. Destruction; complete, utter, total, irreversible destruction. The power and energy, it's incredible. To know that you have such a mass effect, to know that people will never forget you, never underestimate you strength.

But now I was underestimating my own strength, forgetting who I was. Not for long. Someone had to suffer.

I stuck my head around the corner again and felt the adrenaline start to kick in; a man had just walked into the street. I didn't think I had ever seen him before. No, I was _sure_ I had never seen him. He had a medium build, tousled blond hair, and a black t-shirt with "Make My Day" scrolled across the front. Oh, he was practically begging for what I had planned. He demonstrated the phrase written in white letters very well; his posture was one of a tough guy not to be messed with. You know, the arms swinging freely away from his body, the slumped relaxed shoulders but the pole-straight paranoid spine, and an expression on his face that he could take on the world. His eyes were darting from side to side and he kept glancing over his shoulder. Obviously, he was nervous – this was not a good time to be out roaming the streets after all. But he was also an idiot; I mean, he didn't see me or my stunningly red hat and I was positioned in front of him – if slightly to his left.

He momentarily paused at an intersection, swept the area with his gaze – but still managed to miss me – and then turned to his right, continuing down another major street. I followed him. When I came to the intersection myself, I stuck close to the corner building, a photography shop, and once more poked my head around the corner. I caught his profile as he returned his eyed forward. He had just glanced behind him and now wouldn't for a moment or so. My timing couldn't have been more perfect.

I silently sprinted over to him. Yes, completely silently. It's a hard art to master, but once you've got it, your enemies don't stand a chance. Just like this guy. Well, he wasn't my enemy, he was just a random guy; but he still didn't stand a chance. When I reached him, I pressed my gun to the back of his skull. He froze, tensing up.

"Start running," I growled. I liked my prey to try and get away before I completely diminished hope.

"You don't sound like anyone who works for the Carlo's. You must be new. I assume this is about the money? I have it, OK. I just need to get to the bank, and as you can see, nothing is open right now since it's past midnight."

I nearly shot him right there. Did he honestly think I cared? I held in my anger and said, "No, this isn't about whatever money. Now do as I say or I'll shoot you right here." He stiffened but didn't move otherwise.

I was about to pull the trigger when he asked, "Are you…?"

"Yes, I am!" I yelled, taking off my fedora with my free hand and waved it in front of him. I was the only one in the city who wore that hat – and probably the only one in the whole world to wear it in that color. There was no way this moron would mistake me now. I shoved the hat back on my head and told him, "Now run."

And run he did. Man, he took off like he was competing for the gold or something. I stood in shocked amazement for a moment before raising my arm and aiming. The gun exploded even louder than usual due to the empty street. I was right on target; the bullet hit him in the calf. He stumbled but continued, now running with a limp which made him half as fast. Getting a real sense of the chase now, I ran after him, firing three more times. One hit him in the upper thigh, the other in his clean leg, and the last in his lower back. He fell then – not from death; I was careful as I'd fired and made sure he'd be in pain – horrible pain – but that he wouldn't die. I had too much planned to let him die right away. And I was just getting started.

As I approached, he turned on his side, panting, his face twisted in pain. I pocketed my gun and pulled out my knife. A smile spread across my features as I leaped onto his abdomen and dug my knife into his arm. He grunted in pain. Who freaking grunts when they've been stabbed? I pushed it in farther, twisting it as I made my slow progress. He cried out then. My smile grew; that was what I'd needed. My past self ran away, not sure what to do and afraid of what would happen next. Wimpy coward. How could I ever have been like that? I slowly moved down his arm, no longer twisting the knife but never lifting it up either. His cries were excruciating and I loved it. The knife was in so deep my hand was covered in blood and I heard the knife scraping something as I moved it down – I guessed and hoped that it was bone. How awesome would that be? To say that you had scraped the bone of your victim?

When I pulled out the knife, he gasped for air and glanced down at the bloody mess that used to be a fully functioning arm. After seeing my handiwork, he closed his eyes as his already pale face lost more of its color. I stood briefly and he was able to draw in a full breath before I sat on his abdomen hard, making all of his air rush out of his mouth.

When I twisted to get at his other arm, he managed to choke out, "Please." I gave him a look filled with curiosity, my knife inches from his skin.

"Please what?" I asked in mock confusion as I thrust the blade into his biceps. He cried out and I drug the knife from the top of the biceps to the wrist. I yanked it out, wondering where to go from there. I stood and without my weight, he took in a deeper breath than he'd anticipated, making him cough. I moved to his leg – the one with two bullets in it – and wiped some of the blood away to find the hole.

"Please," he said between coughs, "don't."

"Please yourself, I am doing you a favor."

"By killing," cough, "me?"

"No, I am going to get this bullet out of you. I know it must be uncomfortable." He started to protest but that soon ended and was replaced with screams. After digging around for awhile and horribly mutilating his leg, I said, "I can't seem to find that one. I will try to get the other two out, don't worry. The one near your spine I'll leave there. That one would be too painful, wouldn't it?" I moved down to the calf then to the other leg. That one was in the back of the knee and I don't think I have ever heard anyone scream so much. It was understandable; having someone with no medical training dig into your leg to search for a bullet without an anesthetic would be painful. And trust me when I say "search" for the bullet; I had no idea so much stuff could fit into a leg – whatever wasn't bullet, I cut away at to continue my search. He continually pleaded me to stop but I couldn't just give up. I'm a people pleaser and I had to improve his situation… Not! And his pleading was getting old.

When I'd satisfied myself with his legs – I was sure he would never walk again – I walked around to where his face lay. I crouched by his head as his eyes flicked up to me, full of pain.

"Sorry, guess I should've gotten my medical degree before trying to be a doctor." I wiped the blade on his thick hair to clean the knife of the blood. I had to wipe it several times – there was a lot of blood. Once it was somewhat clean, I sat and watched him for a moment before standing and going to his midsection.

"No, please." Now he was just getting annoying.

"What? I'm sorry I can't hear you." I rammed the knife into his abdomen. He tried to scream but it came out as a cough instead. You haven't really heard someone cough until you've stabbed them in their abdominal area. I withdrew my knife and stabbed him again. And again. And again and again.

"Stop!" he managed to yell at me. I froze with my hand on the knife, ready to yank it out once more. I looked at him, my eyes so cold they could have melted ice and his face filled with fear. I shoved the knife in a little further as I stood up, reaching for my nine millimeter once more. I stalked around to his head and hit him as hard as I could with the butt. When that didn't knock him out, I hit him again. I ensured he wouldn't wake up soon and before returning to my work, I noticed a faint trickle of blood bubbling from his head and quickly pooling on the street.

"I cracked his head open…" I said before bursting out laughing and prancing back over to my knife. I repeatedly stabbed him in the abdominals over twenty five times; I lost count after that. I sat back, knife in hand and observed my victim. His blood-streaked hair, his misshapen limbs, and his overly exposed midsection.

I couldn't just leave him there. I had to break free from my old routine and do something spontaneous to ensure my past would stay where it needed to – behind.

Getting an idea, I stood and put my knife away, crossing to the head of What's His Name. Grabbing an arm in each hand, I started to pull him. His body straightened out and then he flopped onto his back, his head vibrating as I dragged him down the street. Gravel and dirt entered into his wounds and embedded themselves there while simultaneously tearing his wounds open further and reducing his clothing to shreds. The skin that I hadn't touched was now ripped open – mere shiners becoming severe wounds.

I turned a corner and stopped my progress to rest and check my surroundings. Of course I was headed in the right direction but would I be able to make it? He was heavier than he originally looked and the fact that he was limp didn't help anybody.

I reassured myself that I didn't have too far to go and I picked up his arms once more to continue my progress. About half-way there, I had to pause and rest again. To make things interesting, I pushed him onto his front so that he would be equally bloody on both sides. I continued to drag him; he continued to get torn up.

I only had to rest once more before I made it to my destination. My compound was locked up as always and I dropped the guy to go look through the gates for intruders and unlock it. I didn't know anymore if the guy was dead or not. I didn't care. But if the mafia – for I assumed that was what he was babbling about earlier – caught wind that a guy who owed them money was dead, then they would get annoyed and blow some buildings up with important people inside. Now, normally I would applaud that, but I expected my adversary to show up at any time and if I had a mafia fiasco on my hands, then I couldn't give my adversary the proper attention I needed to kill him. No, by dragging Bloody Man to my compound, I was informing the mafia that I was the one responsible. Once they found out it had been me, they wouldn't ask any questions – just dismiss it and move on. They knew better than to get tangled up with me.

I whistled as the padlock slipped into my hand. My Dobermans came running around the corner of the only building in my compound – the one where I stowed all my weapons – in a few seconds. I quickly counted the dogs as they jumped up on the fence, tongues lolling, happy to see me. Fifteen. Good, they were all still alive and they appeared to be doing well. I usually didn't do the care-taking of my specially trained attack Dobermans. That I reserved for one of my minions. I would only visit if I needed a new or different weapon or if I needed my dogs.

I needed the dogs at that moment.

"Sit!" I commanded and they immediately obeyed – I was the only one who had complete control over them. I opened the gate. "Stay." I went over to Bloody Man and dragged him into the compound. I left him there once he was fully inside. I exited and closed the gate. As I locked it, I gave my final command.

"Attack." With barks and growls, they all pounced at once. They tore him apart – quite literally. If he wasn't dead before, he would be now. Not only had I trained my dogs to attack, I had trained them to love human flesh and devour it – all of it. As he was split between fifteen attack Dobermans who considered human flesh a delicacy, I watched. I was completely content and smiled as I imagined his screams that had echoed up and down the street earlier that night. I took out my knife, looked at the blood on its blade, and dropped it. In case anyone was curious as to how What's His Face had died, they had my knife and my dogs to go off of. They could use their imaginations from there.

As I walked back home, I kept thinking back to the murder. How glorious it had been. How much control and power I'd had. How the adrenaline had rushed through my veins and made me feel so alive. How I had triumphed over my past.

I closed my front door behind me and took the stairs two at a time. I came to the top of the stairs, basking in my amazing murder skills when I passed by her room. I slowed to a stop and allowed my eyes to adjust to the darkness.

The door wasn't closed and there she was, lying in bed fast asleep. The light from the street light outside gave the whole room a softer look, almost an innocent one. The light played with her hair, emphasizing the red. I momentarily marveled that it was down – she always wore it in a ponytail. Always.

Gosalyn. My adversary's daughter. Bait for him, ensuring me he would come rescue her and once he showed up, I would kill him – it was only a matter of time now.

I thought of her undemanding nature, how she never pretended to be something she wasn't. How easy she was to get along with. How innocent she still was, even though she would never admit it.

Memories of my actions from earlier flooded my conscience and I backed into the wall for support.

What had I done?

Negaduck, Gosalyn, and any references are (c) Disney and are used without permission for entertainment purposes only.


End file.
